The Magical Mystery Tour
by teecrushfic
Summary: The Magical Mystery Tour is the must-see show in Britain; but a new act throws the show into chaos, and when bad things start happening, it's up to Harry Potter and his sleuthing handbook to save the day.


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The Magical Mystery Tour was the biggest magical sensation in Britain.

Owned and operated by Albus Dumbledore, a renowned wizard in his own right, the circus was a draw to all, big and small, old and young; as the saying went, there was a little something for everyone.

Not just a lion tamer…but a chimera tamer. Not just a fire-breather, but a fire-eater. Not just an illusionist, but a master magician with a pet boggart. And not just clowns, but the most renowned clowns in Europe; the Fabulous Fossors. Some thought the Latin name a tad pretentious, but none could deny that they were, indeed, fabulous.

But the stars of the show, make no mistake, were the Winged Weasleys, so named because of their aerial feats. Without use of any kind of net, they soared, dipped, flipped and flew through the air as though part bird.

Which _part_ of them was bird was the subject of much debate, as the younger Weasleys were rather colorful characters, and they enjoyed encouraging speculation amongst circus-goers.

Girls and boys alike sighed over the oldest boy, Bill, whose actions were often reckless and impulsive; Charlie, the second oldest, whose costumes were a tad revealing; and the twins, Fred and George, whose feats in the air were nothing short of extraordinary. They often assisted Ringmaster Dumbledore in the main ring as well, and their constant patter was a source of much amusement to the crowd, as were the illusions they seemed able to pull out of thin air. Ron, the second youngest was the anchor of the group, his extreme strength holding many of the most difficult feats together. The youngest, Ginny, was the flirt of the group, and owls had finally been banned from the Big Top, when one too many met its end in a mid-air collision with one or the other of the Weasleys as it attempted to deliver her a message of undying love.

There was one other Weasley, the classic middle child, Percy who suffered greatly (and ironically) from acrophobia, and therefore stayed on the ground, assisting the Animal Master, Rubeus Hagrid with the care and feeding of his extraordinary menagerie.

The final Weasley was not, biologically, a Weasley at all, but a young man named Harry Potter. Harry had been orphaned at age three when his parents, James and Lily, had gotten a little too familiar with their tigers and had become, respectively, a meal and a snack for said tigers. It had been deemed an Unfortunate Incident by the Ministry of Magic, and little Harry had been immediately adopted by the Weasleys, for whom one more mouth to feed seemed little problem.

Harry was not an aerialist, but rather performed various odd jobs around the circus – he often acted as the straight man for clown jokes and had gotten hit in the face with more pies than Chaplin. He helped dress the dancing bears and once in a while, stuck the needles in the Man Who Felt No Pain. But by and large, he was most known for his unerring ability to hit a target when shot out of a cannon, hence the moniker, "Cannonball Harry, the Hardest-Headed Man in Britain."

Some members of the circus privately wondered if Harry had been shot out of a metal tube at high velocities one too many times, but since he was a good lad, sweet and always willing to help anyone out, these opinions were kept largely quiet.

The Magical Mystery Tour was also home to a generous helping of what could be loosely termed "freaks;" the Bearded Lady, who had recently changed her look to a very distinguished goatee; the Vampire Pomeranian who would suck the blood from your ankle if you should meet him in the dark of night; the Human Pincushion, who was not human at all, but a goblin with identity issues and an unholy tolerance for pain. These folk, along with various and sundry others comprised the circus, and like any other group of people forced together by proximity and need for money considered themselves a family.

So it was with some trepidation, some raised eyebrows and some outright annoyance that the news that a new act had been acquired was received. That trepidation turned to vociferous outcries when the act turned out to be the Marvelous Malfoys – a father/son contortionist act that was popular in Europe proper.

Many considered the Malfoys pompous and entitled, and many more regarded them with deep suspicion – no two men could be that pretty. It just was not natural to be that blond, that grey-eyed, have noses that straight or lips that pouty. It had to be a glamour, and if there was anything the family looked down on, it was artifice. In the family's opinion, if you were pretty, you were lucky and if you were ugly? You dealt with it and moved on. That was the way it was done.

The monthly "family council" where such news as new acts or changes to existing ones was, in truth, a business meeting – and more of a dictatorship than an actual democracy – but in the interest of peace, harmony and good will, it was touted as a family affair. The members of the group straggled into the main tent in pairs and alone, each one with an opinion that they were bound and determined to express to _someone_.

At the podium, Dumbledore looked over the grumbling crowd and sighed – every year it seemed like there were more personnel issues, more pay issues and more issues in general on the Tour. From a business standpoint, acquiring the rights to the Marvelous Malfoys made perfect sense; they were a proven draw, accomplished professionals and certain money-makers. And if they were uppity snots, well, that was the breaks and the show must go on.

He rapped his wand on the wood to call for order – a signal that went largely ignored. He sighed. "Silence!" he called, his voice lost in the babble. He then shook his head and pulled out his wand, casting a Sonorous charm. "SILENCE!" he boomed. This time, the room quieted, until the only sound was the Fat Lady trying to cross her legs…it sounded much like two rubber rafts being jostled together in the back of a very small wagon. Finally, she managed, and folded her arms, staring at Dumbledore.

He stared back for a moment, before turning his glance to the rest of the assembled folk and decided to dispense with preamble and pleasantries. "You have, I trust, all heard the rumors that the Tour is to acquire a new act."

Grumbles ensued and he coughed loudly to restore order.

"The rumors are true – as of tomorrow evening, the Tour will include the Marvelous Malfoys in all their splendor."

A ruckus broke out and Harry looked around as voices rose and people started to gesture (rudely and otherwise) and wave their various limbs about. Next to him, Ginny was grinning around a large mouthful of food. She chewed and swallowed. "Corndog, Harry?" she offered, but he demurred. He knew better than to come between Ginny and her junk food, no matter how nicely she offered.

"Isn't this brilliant?" she continued. "Draco Malfoy…here, in our midst! He is SO HOT," she sighed, her eyes becoming dreamy. "That blond hair, those pecs, that tight arse…"

"Ginevra Weasley!" scolded Molly who was never far from her erm, adventurous daughter. "The last thing you should be doing is fantasizing about some young man's posterior. It's very unseemly."

"Come on Mum…have you _seen_ Malfoy's arse? Either one? It's pretty damn sweet." This comment came from Charlie, who was taking this time to spangle his newest costume with bronze sequins, to match his eyes. Molly sighed.

"Charles, I do not generally take the time to gawk at any male body parts that do not belong to either your father's or one of you children…speaking of which, Harry dear, how is that rash of yours coming along?"

Harry looked up with that "skrewt caught in the headlights" look that he was rather known for, and blushed. "Molllllllyyyyy!"

"Oh, sorry dear," she said absently, darning a sock of her husbands. "But is it better?"

Ginny was snorting into her corndog, and on his other side, Ron was sharing his pain by blushing along with him. Harry sighed. "Somewhat. It's only been a day or so."

"Well, do let me know how it goes. The testicles are a terrible place to have a skin condition, especially when they…"

"Molly!!"

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Charlie's spangles. "Dear, you'll look like a, a…"

"Slut?" supplied Ginny helpfully and her mother shushed her. "But yes, Charlie, a slut."

Charlie grinned. "You really think so?"

"Merlin, yes!"

"Excellent," said Charlie with immense satisfaction. "That's exactly what I was going for."

Up front, Dumbledore was once again whipping out his wand, and to preserve their eardrums, people quieted. "Now," he continued, "I know that many of you are concerned and feel, perhaps a bit slighted, but that is simply not the case. Their troupe is disbanding due to financial pressures, and their act needs a home. I am happy to be able to provide one and am confident," his beetle-like brows, "that you all will make them welcome in our home."

After a few more items of business, the meeting broke up, Harry making his escape quickly before Molly could expound on testicular rashes. He suspected that Filch had been fiddling with the gunpowder again and Harry was merely having a bad reaction to it, but one never knew. So he used the ointment and kept quiet.

He caught up with Hagrid outside the animal tent, and as usual, the half-giant was muttering about the animals in his care, how no one except him cared for them, that with all these new acts coming in, they should just let them go, and so on and so forth. Harry had heard it all before, so he just listened as they walked down to the cages to check on the animals for the night.

"People love the animal acts, Hagrid," Harry said, petting the three-headed llamabull, "They'd be sad if they came to TMMT and they were gone. Granted, the chimera might not be missed – except at the company barbecue – but still…"

"That's not the point, 'Arry," Hagrid grumbled. "The point is that these poor creatures are caged and kept captive an' they were never s'posed to be. Now, here, looka this one. Bobo was meant to roam free, if 'eva an animal was. Weren't you, Bobo? Ain't he a beautiful creature, 'Arry?"

Harry looked at Bobo doubtfully; a dwarf pigbear wasn't HIS idea of beauty, but it was all in the eye of the beholder as they said. "If you say so, Hagrid."

"I do! An' lot t'others say so too. Hmph."

Harry shrugged and helped Hagrid feed the crew of animals, some of whom were happy to see them, some who pretended indifference to their presence, and some who actively tried to maul them. Hagrid claimed they just wanted petting. "See there, 'Arry…just needs some love, don't ya, ya little rascal?"

The little rascal was a hybrid of alligator and platypus and he didn't look, to Harry, as though "petting" was high on his agenda for the night. Thinking of petting made him think of Ginny and he grimaced. She had recently decided that she had a "massive, earth-shattering, life-altering" crush on him, and had taking to following him about, making suggestive remarks. He wasn't sure how to tell her that he a) thought of her as a sister b) had a thing for blonds and c) that the corndogs she favored were going straight to her arse. That last was of some concern because even Ron was having a tough time pulling her back up out of some dips and he worried that some day she'd pull him off the swing and down they'd go, arse over teakettle. He envisioned Ginny in a body cast, unable to follow him about, and smiled.

When he was finished with Hagrid, he retired to his "room" in the Weasley family tent; magic was a lovely thing, he thought, and not for the first time. The outside looked like an army surplus pup tent, while inside housed six bedrooms, two baths and a gourmet kitchen for Molly. Harry had his own room; being an orphan and frankly " a bit of an odd boy, really, Merlin bless him," had gotten him that, although Ron complained bitterly of being stuck with Percy, and Ginny, of course, got her own room. Harry was grateful for the privacy, even more so as they grew older, as it gave him a quiet place to wank, and not incidentally, a place to hide his issues of "Magic Monthly," which often featured a certain blond duo; a duo which Harry was anxious to make acquaintance with.

Very anxious, if the state of Draco Malfoy's three centerfolds were any indication.

After bidding the other family members good night, it was to his room, and the latest centerfold that Harry retired to. He pulled it out carefully, smoothing invisible wrinkles out, casting yet another protective charm on it – he'd heard of this Muggle process called "laminating" and decided to look into it, since the charms were apparently nothing compared to his, erm, outpourings.

He stared at the picture of Draco Malfoy; Draco the Dragon with his perfectly straight, perfectly groomed blond hair, with those grey eyes that always looked disdainful, with those lips that looked made for kissing and biting and licking and…

Ah, hello!

And he was going to be **here**. Here at TMMT, in the ring, on the ropes, in the air! All of him in that tight white costume, or maybe the silver one with the rings or the black one…oh Merlin, the black one with the sides held together with thin silver cords.

Harry sighed and lay back on his pillow, taking matters in hand.

He fell asleep with a wide, silly smile on his face.

&&&&&

The next day dawned clear and bright, and Harry bounced out of bed with a smile on his lips, a song in his heart and wood in his pants. The last one was quickly taken care of and he was washed, dressed and on his way. Today's performance featured him taking another tube trip and he wanted to personally check the gunpowder supply cause that rash was bnot/b going away and he really didn't want to be dancing the itchy-itchy jig when Draco "Why Yes, I AM A God" Malfoy showed up.

The day seemed interminable, and when five o'clock came and they still hadn't showed up, Harry moped off into the field just beyond the cluster of tents and climbed a tree to pout…and also to hide from Ginny, who seemed determined to snog him today. They had to be coming, right? Dumbledore wouldn't lie…

At half five, a thump off to his left made him look up, only to see two blond heads emerge from a cloud of dust. "Honestly, Father, a port key? Out in a field? What's the matter with Apparating for God's sakes?"

A sigh. "Now do stop complaining and grab my luggage, there's a good son."

"A good **father** would carry his **son's** luggage, after that trip. Who made that Portkey, a Squib?"

Harry scrambled out of the tree when they were nearly below him, startling them both. "I can carry your luggage," said Harry somewhat breathlessly. "I don't mind. I'm just so happy you're here!"

Lucius looked mildly amused. "Well of course you are. Who wouldn't be?"

Draco crossed his arms and eyed this boy who resembled a walking unmade bed. "Who are you?"

"Oh! I'm Harry. Harry Potter. I work at **The Magical Mystery Tour**, and I was out here waiting for you. I'm sure Dumbledore will want to see you, so I can take you there and then take your luggage to the guest tent."

Draco wrinkled his nose at the smell emanating from the other boy; it wasn't rose cologne that was for sure. "What do you do there? Clean up bear shit?"

"Draco! That's no way to talk to the help." Lucius sighed. "My son is a bit blunt."

"It's ok….sometimes I do clean up shit, but hey, someone has to. Mostly I get shot out of a cannon." Harry nodded, then picked up the six bags with some awkwardness, and started walking towards the camp. Draco rolled his eyes and Lucius scowled at him as they followed him.

He tried to walk backward so he could talk to Draco more, but he found that he fell a lot that way, so had to walk facing forward. He still kept up a steady stream of chatter the whole way back and only stopped when he deposited the Malfoys at Dumbledore's office and then struggled his way to the guest tent with the luggage.

He was hanging around the tent flap trying to look casual – and failing utterly – when the Marvelous Malfoys emerged, Lucius looking calm and Draco resentful. Harry immediately latched on to Draco, which did nothing for the other boy's mood. "Have you eaten? Do you need to? Do you want me to show you around? "

"No, no, and no. I am fine, thank you and really want nothing more than a little peace and quiet."

"Oh. Oh, well, then. I can show you to your tent if you want." Harry wasn't discouraged for more than a moment or two. He had time, and the most famous seductions in history took time, right?

"Whatever." Draco sounded bored and irate, and was. He hated that they had had to join up with a decidedly low-rent (by the looks) enterprise and even more, that he and his father would share billing with those bloody Weasleys who were really no more than a bunch of over-bred monkeys

He trudged along behind Harry, hoping that the wind was wafting upwards 'cause damn that boy smelled ripe.

They reached the tent and Draco went in first, as befit his status, and looked around. Serviceable enough – with a few touches here and there, it might actually be live-able as well. Lucius followed and was able to keep his lip from curling only by a supreme act of will. While he outwardly chastised his son for being a pessimist, he himself had to admit that this was a rather discouraging comedown. But surely it was only temporary, and soon, the funds they would be generating would allow them a serious upgrade in accommodations. Until then, he chose to think of it as a fun sort of "roughing it."

"What a dump," Draco said succinctly, and Harry bristled a bit, then sighed. "I'm sure it's not what you're used to, Draco, but you are a wizard and I'm sure you will find a way to make this suit you."

"Of course I will…I just shouldn't have to." Draco crossed his arms and stared back at Harry.

Harry scowled. "You know, just cause you're gorgeous doesn't mean you have to be a complete and utter ass."

Anyone else might have been momentarily taken aback, but Draco knew full well he was gorgeous, and used it to his advantage whenever possible. "I don't **have** to, no."

"You just like to be? Well, whatever; won't win you any friends around here." Harry set the luggage down with a thump and rubbed his hands on his trousers. "Do you need anything else right now, Mr. Malfoy, Draco?"

Lucius clapped a hand over Draco's mouth before he could say anything else, and shook his head. "No, Harry - that will be all."

Harry nodded and turned, leaving the tent and squinting in the late afternoon sun. He decided that Draco just needed a little exposure to the group, a little accommodating for a bit, and then he'd surely be fine.

Much cheered, he headed back to the family tent, intent on showing his best face to the newcomers.

&&&&&

Normally, Harry would have saved showering until after his nightly volley through the air, but Draco's comments about bear shit stung, and about a half hour before the evening's performance, he snuck into the family tent to wash up and was greeted by a naked Charlie Weasley, who was, he said, "performing a little personal maintenance."

To Harry, it just looked painful – if someone had spread hot wax on his nether regions and then yanked it off, his screams would have been heard in Third World countries. Charlie, however, was nonplussed. "Beauty isn't easy, Harry," he said, calmly ripping a strip off a place that made Harry go pale. "But the rewards are great."

"Charlie, there couldn't **be** a reward great enough to justify that." Harry shuddered and proceeded to take off his clothes. Someone was always naked at the Weasleys. Charlie watched him with brotherly approval.

At least, Harry _hoped_ it was just brotherly approval; he liked Charlie just fine, but his heart belonged to a snooty blond. He sighed. Charlie grinned.

"So how is the fantabulously hot Draco Malfoy? You stuck to him like Ginny to a caramel apple all afternoon."

Harry blushed, and started to say that no, he hadn't, but he was pants at lying and everyone knew it. "He's amazing," he sighed, leaning against the tub. "I think he may even be a natural blond."

"Only one way to tell!" Charlie looked down at his smooth skin and smiled approvingly.

Harry snorted. "I should be so lucky. The way my life goes, he'll fall for…I don't know, Percy or someone."

"If he falls for Percy, he's certifiable and you're better off not knowing if he's a bottle or real blond anyway." Charlie rinsed and began shaving as Harry got into the shower and scrubbed assiduously….with soap, even.

That night's performance was packed; word of the Malfoys had spread (and Minerva was brilliant at marketing, Dumbledore had to admit) and people poured in, making her happy and Dumbledore relieved, since when Minerva wasn't happy? Nobody was happy. Albus loved her like the wife he never wanted, but the woman was relentless about the bottom line.

You had to love a woman with an abacus and an attitude.

He stood back in the shadows, Hagrid grumbling beside him. "It ain't right, Albus. You know them bears are surly for sure and getting' worse every day. T'day one of 'em took a dump right on poor 'Arry's foot and…"

"Your opinion is noted, Hagrid," Dumbledore answered, craning his neck to see over the Three-Horned Man. Each horn played a range of notes and all three formed a harmony that was rather pleasant overall. "But I trust that you have worked your considerable magic and soothed the savage breast, as it were."

Hagrid mumbled something about breasts being the least of his worries, but Albus ignored him. He saw Filch filling the powder chamber of the cannon and devoutly hoped that Harry was getting over his rash because really, no one hit a bulls-eye like Harry.

In another part of the arena, the Weasleys were powdering their hands and preparing to fly through the air with the greatest of ease. Charlie had prudently covered his "altered" outfit until it was too late to do anything about it, and as the spotlights swept around the ring, there were cheers and whistles and Charlie smiled and bowed with a flourish, exposing a bit more skin than anyone expected. Ginny had just finished her pre-dinner taco, and wiped her hands on Ron before slapping Charlie's ass. "Niiice."

"Isn't it?"

"Definitely; Bill, for God's sakes, your fringe is perfect. Just stop. You're more of a girl than I am."

Bill looked disdainful. "That wouldn't take much; I think all that hot sauce is growing hair on your chest."

"It is **not, **you prat! Mum!"

"Bill, really. And do stop fussing with your hair." Molly looked around to check the whereabouts of the rest of her brood; Ron was present and accounted for, as were Bill and, oh, Charlie…Arthur, Ginny, yes, right here and the twins were down with Dumbledore. She could just barely make out Percy hiding behind the giant spider, and Harry…Harry was near the clowns, where he had, not coincidentally, a rather splendid view of Draco Malfoy's arse. She sighed, knowing the centerfolds were in for it tonight.

The owner of that arse was inspecting his fingernails and doing idle toe lifts. "Do stop fidgeting, Draco," hissed Lucius from his perfectly posed spot beside him. "We are role models and to be envied."

"No, we _were_ to be envied. It's now degenerated into pity. Look at this place!"

Lucius spoke through tight lips. "Draco, do hush up. This is the hand we are currently dealt, so for the love of Merlin, do man up and stop this accursed whingeing!"

Draco glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "You…are telling **me** to man up? The man who was distraught when his purple velvet hostess gown was wrinkled?"

Lucius glared back. "It's imported velvet! And gold Italian trim!"

The lights dimmed and Dumbledore's voice boomed through the huge tent. "Welcome, welcome, one and all to the fabled Magical Mystery Tour, the finest show in Britain and Europe!"

Cheers and applause greeted his words. From his vantage point, Harry grinned. He loved shows, and it never got old for him. He gave Ron a big thumbs-up and Ron signaled the same back.

The clowns, as usual, opened the show – their little cars were a hit with most crowds, even more so because they were so outside the realm of daily wizarding life. The resulting crash, punches thrown and invectives sputtered soon had the crowd rolling in the aisles, and after Genghis, the lead clown, was turned into a chicken on the spot, the act gave way to Hagrid and his "interesting" animals.

The crowd regarded this with a bit more trepidation; it was true that Hagrid was of the opinion that half the fun of having an animal act (if one must be had at all) was audience interaction. He frequently brought the gentler animals to the front row so that the braver children could touch them or speak to them – the only issue arose when Hagrid and the crowd disagreed on what could be termed "gentle." Hagrid was of the opinion that if the creature wasn't foaming at the mouth or snarling, it was gentle, while others insisted that if the animal was eyeing the human as though they were an all you can eat buffet, that it wasn't safe. These disagreements often became loud and included a lot of gesturing, raised voices and an occasional threat of a hex or two.

However, tonight was not one of those nights and after a niffler had turned a series of somersaults for a biscuit, and two love-struck kneazles harmonized on a feline version of "Can't Get Enough of You Baby," it was time for the Winged Weasleys.

The spotlights shifted and changed colors, the better to shimmer off the tight (and in Charlie's case downright illegal) white satin costumes dotted with gold sequins the family wore. In the wings, Draco privately thought that his father was most likely drooling over the accent crystals, even though sequins were frightfully common.

The crowd roared and waved, and the family waved back before going into their first drop, one so sudden and so unexpected, that it always caused gasps, as it did this time as well. Bill flipped over three times before his brother Ron caught his hand and pulled him up, only to fling him at Charlie, who rolled over him on his way to the other side.

While it was mostly the younger Weasleys who attempted the most daring moods, the elders were no slouches and on the ground, Lucius Malfoy had to grudgingly admit that the rather stodgy appearances of the parents belied their strength and grace. And while the daughter had a rather large posterior, it hadn't affected her ability to fly through the air with the greatest of ease, as it were.

The tumultuous applause when they finally alighted into the main ring was grating on Draco's ears. Honestly, these people obviously had never seen REAL entertainment, but by God, they would tonight…after the stinky boy was shot out of a cannon apparently. This ought to be good, he thought, and glancing over at his father, Draco saw a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.

Harry, for his part, was unperturbed; he was used to this, and as soon as he stepped out of the shadows in his blue jumpsuit with the Union Jack and "The Magical Mystery Tour" emblazoned across the arse, the applause started again. He grinned and waved, before hopping gracefully atop the cannon, and twisting his body to slide in.

Dumbledore watched approvingly, having had a talk with Filch about the need for accurate counting down when firing boys out of cannons. So it was with great confidence that he introduced Harry, and as he waved his wand grandly as he got to three, the cannon went off, and Harry went hurtling through the air.

Harry flailed rather ineffectually – Filch usually got to at least four, the bloody prat, but he still managed to hit the inner circle of the target and break through the paper to the other side where he landed with a thump and an audible "Fuck!"

Draco had never laughed so hard; he was holding his sides and giggling so much he was afraid he might pee. Beside him, Lucius was doing only a slightly better job in containing his mirth, and the audience wasn't holding back at all.

Harry just barely managed to wipe the extremely pissed-off look from his face as he emerged. Dumbledore put a fatherly arm around his shoulder and encouraged the audience to show their appreciation for the brave airborne boy and the Squib who couldn't count.

Filch glowered, and Harry was tempted to flip him off behind the Ringmaster's back, but refrained. He glanced over at Draco who was hopping up and down, crossing his legs, and scowled again. Great.

The next act involved a skit with the Bearded Lady and the Fire Eater which resulted in singed eyebrows and mustaches all around. Then more clownery, and then, finally, it was time to close the show with the Marvelous Malfoys.

The lights dimmed once again, and haunting music filled the air as in the center ring, now magically draped with silver and glass accents, became home to father and son.

Not for nothing were they termed marvelous; alliteration and it's rolling off the tongue aside, their fluid and somehow impossible movements captivated the crowd as they twisted and turned, folding and unfolding their limbs, bending and flipping – all with such natural grace that one forgot that what they did didn't seem humanly possible.

Harry watched, completely entranced, and tried not to think about how, erm, _limber_ Draco was and how beautiful he looked as he bent and swayed. This was something no mere picture could convey…not even a wizarding one. This was…well, magic.

And he was resolutely NOT thinking about how flexible Draco must be in, erm, other ways. He wasn't.

At all.

During this performance, Ginny and Charlie had noiselessly slipped down to watch on the same level and now flanked Harry. "Whoa," whispered Charlie. "Now that? That is talent. I wonder what he can do in…"

"Shut up you pervert – Harry's not interested." Ginny linked her arm possessively through Harry's, pushing her hand down into his pocket. She was now forced to actually dip her face into her popcorn – extra butter – to eat, since her hands were full.

"Sure he's not. Harry isn't interested at all." Charlie nodded knowingly and glanced down. Ginny's gaze followed and she nearly choked, tearing her hand out of his pocket and spilling her popcorn everywhere and driving the nearby monkeys wild.

Fortunately the performance ended before the monkeys could create total chaos. Ginny glared at Harry. "How could you like **him**?" She hissed. Before Harry could answer, however, Charlie broke in. "How could he not? Malfoy is choice. Those lips, those eyes that arse, that flowing hair…" He trailed off and sighed happily. Harry looked at him askance. "Are we looking at the same Malfoy?"

"God I hope not. I'd hate to trample your tender heart. I was checking out Luciusss," sighed Charlie. "Too bad there are no centerfolds of **him**."

Harry scowled. "Maybe you aren't reading the right magazines."

"Could be," Charlie replied cheerfully. "But it's not like **you** are 'reading' those magazines either."

Ginny was glaring at both of them now. "You are both sick, sick boys. Look what you've done to Harry, Charlie! You've turned him into a pervert too!"

As the Fossors came on for their final skit, the rest of the Weasleys appeared. Ginny dragged Harry away and Charlie reluctantly took his eyes off Lucius …but not before waggling his fingers at the other man and smiling in a most suggestive way. Harry was very glad that he was not sharing a room with Charlie tonight, as he was a moaner and seemed to have a lot of stamina for certain pastimes.

He did not envy Bill, and from the look on Bill's face as he took his brother's arm to drag him away and back to the wings, _Bill_ didn't envy Bill either.

& & & & &

The first performance of the Magical Mystery Tour featuring the Marvelous Malfoys was deemed a rousing success, and the cash flow from that night – including merchandise sales – was impressive. Dumbledore left Minerva clacking away on her ancient calculator like a madwoman, a broad smile on her face and stacks of galleons surrounding her.

Mama was happy, therefore everybody was happy.

Even Lucius was pleased; he had negotiated a profit-sharing arrangement with Dumbledore and tonight he had netted a fair amount of funds, which he had sent directly to Gringott's. The Malfoy vault was looking a tad low these days but with luck, that unfortunate situation was temporary at best. **Something** decent had to come out of all of this.

Tonight's experience had not been as bad as he feared, however; the clowns were a bit less clownish than he had expected, the animals were magnificent, and the skits from the bit performers had been rather amusing. And to be honest, the Potter boy and the cannon had made him laugh excessively. He'd noted that Draco had nearly fallen over laughing and reflected that his son shared his same, slightly twisted sense of humor.

It had also not escaped his notice that the Potter boy had been quite openly ogling his son, although Draco's nose had been quite firmly planted in the air, as usual. He had to admit that while Potter was not exactly what he had chosen, his father had been a pureblood and in this changing world, a half-blood was better than nothing. He would not encourage this, particularly, but neither would he discourage it. They were sixteen, after all, and nearly adults.

Besides, it looked like he himself might be busy with a certain redhead – strawberry blond, rather – member of the Winged Weasleys whom had pleasantly surprised him, being more competent than he had thought. Nowhere near he and Draco, mind, but not bad.

After satisfying himself that the money count was correct – thereby inviting the ire of Minerva McGonagall, who had bristled when her addition was questioned – he betook himself off to his tent for a little quiet reflection, and to steam his velvet gown with the real Italian gold trim.

He had a feeling Charlie Weasley might appreciate it.

&&&&&

The next day was an 'in-between' day; a day for the performers to rest, try out any new tricks or routines, or just socialize. While Harry loved the show nights, he also liked these days, as it allowed him to check in with everyone, hear the gossip, smooth any ruffled feathers; he was good at that, and Dumbledore encouraged it because no one ever got angry with Harry.

Except Ginny Weasley, who was still steaming over the events of the prior evening. She accosted Harry outside the cafeteria tent, still clutching a sticky bun. "Harry," she said, blocking his way, "We need to talk."

"Now?" He was hungry and damn sure Ginny wasn't going to share her bun. "Can't we talk later, like after breakfast, after tea or maybe never?" He was personally hoping for never, but his dreams were crushed when she shook her head. "No, now; our future is in jeopardy, Harry and we need to make some decisions. Come on."

Harry let himself be pulled along. They had a future? Since when? This was all news to him.

Ginny sat him down on a rock near the fortune-teller's tent; Trelawney could be heard loudly snoring through her deviated septum and frankly, Harry questioned Ginny's choice of venue for deciding their future, but then figured it made a weird kind of sense.

He wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"

Ginny looked annoyed, but sniffed. "I don't smell anything."

"It smells like chemicals of some kind – it's not your perfume, is it?"

She glared at him. "NO, it's not my perfume. Just…sit down and shut up, will you?"

He sat down and shut up, knowing that was the best possible way to deal with a Weasley woman.

"Harry," Ginny started, shoving half the bun in her mouth and chewing noisily, "You know that we were meant to be together. I told you that months, if not years ago. It's been decided! So what were you thinking, drooling over a, a…boy last night?"

Harry wondered briefly if this was a trick question. "Draco is gorgeous, Gin; what else should I have done?"

Ooooh, Potter, wrong answer. Dammit, he'd never been good at open-ended questions; he was much more of a yes or no type of bloke.

Ginny's face was scarlet and he wondered momentarily if she was just pissed off or choking and pissed off. Fortunately (or unfortunately), it turned out to be the former.

"Harry! You should not be lusting after men! You should be lusting after girls, specifically me! Why do you think I wear these revealing outfits and makeup? For fun?"

Harry looked her over; it was true that she plastered with eyeliner and lip gloss, was spilling out of her tank top and that her shorts seemed to be showing some cheek, but…"I didn't know they were supposed to be revealing on purpose, Gin…I thought you were just getting fat."

As it turned out, Ginny did share her bun…by walloping him in the face with it, and then running off crying. The running seemed to be somewhat hampered by her stiletto mules, but she still made impressive time. From the depths of Trelawney's tent floated a voice. "That was not a wise answer, my dear boy."

Harry was picking frosting out of his eyebrows. "I figured that out, thanks. Where was your sage advice five minutes ago?"

A round moon face, made even odder-looking by thick-lensed glasses peered out of the tent flap. "Always in motion, is the future, and even the wisest cannot tell. Also, you have frosting hanging out of your nose."

"Thank you, Galadryoda." Harry stood up and brushed off the crumbs, then retrieved the mangled bun for the baby hippogriffs and set off for the cafeteria once again, still scrubbing at his unruly-under-the-best-of-circumstances eyebrows.

He was still a bit tired since sleeping had been difficult, he was unwashed, and of course, covered in sticky bun. So of course, the first person he met on his way was Draco Malfoy – who was, also of course, impeccably groomed and dressed neatly in jeans and a tight t-shirt. Harry tried hard not to drool, since drool plus frosting probably formed a bricklike substance.

Draco stopped in his tracks and looked Potter over. "Do you always wear your food?"

"Uh, no." Harry scratched his neck. "I had a bit of a disagreement with Ginny and she got rather upset with me."

"Ahh… well, what can you expect from a woman? Overemotional to the extreme, prone to throwing things, jealous, hormonally unbalanced…"

"Yeah, that's Ginny." Harry scrubbed some frosting off his nose. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"I had tea and scones with Father in our tent, yes. I did pass by the eating tent, but the smells made me wonder if someone was roasting a gross of newts."

"Not that I know of; that usually doesn't happen till Tuesday." Harry smirked, and Draco, unwillingly and rather unexpectedly, smirked back. He reached out and touched his cheek, startling Harry.

"Don't be so jumpy; good God, this stuff is like plaster. I'm not even sure a scouring charm could get this off." He drew back his finger and in a surprise move, licked the tip of his finger, producing a reaction in Harry that was nothing short of explosive. He just hoped his pants weren't showing it.

"I have to say, seeing you shot out of that cannon last night – and missing the target entirely – was one of the funniest things I've ever seen." Draco had finished licking the frosting off his finger, and was now regarding him with less of a smirk and more of a smile. Harry had to smile back. "Thank you so much…at least my arse wasn't on fire this time; that was a blessing."

Draco snorted, and then laughed aloud. "I would say so. You have a rather nice arse, so I would hope nothing too untoward would happen to it."

Harry blushed. "Thanks. I, uhm, like yours too."

"So I hear." Draco folded his arms. "Father is entertaining one Charlie Weasley at this moment, and he happened to mention that you have a slight fascination with me."

Harry turned even redder; goddamn Charlie anyway – he was going to kick his arse the next time he saw him.

"Charlie has a big mouth. He thought your father was choice, though."

Draco rolled his eyes expressively. "Most people do. God only knows why; he's a snotty bastard, but some people find that charming. There's just no accounting for taste."

This was certainly true; Harry was endlessly fascinated with how people hooked up, how the most unlikely folks found others to be with. It gave him hope for his future.

"That was an amazing performance last night, by the way," said Harry just to change the subject – the thought of exactly what Charlie and Lucius might be up to made him shudder. "I've never seen anyone bend that way. Double jointed?"

Draco had a ribald reply to that, but thought better of it. "Yes, plus extraordinary flexibility is a Malfoy family trait, plus lots of practice, of course. Glad you enjoyed it."

"I did," said Harry with perhaps too much feeling. "Very much."

Draco's lip turned up at the edge. "Good." He looked around. "So what do you do on days when there are no performances?"

"I just wander around, usually," Harry replied, fighting back images of Draco in spandex. "I like to check in on people, see what's new, hear the gossip, see what's new with the animals. I keep busy."

"Ah. Sounds fascinating."

Harry shrugged. "It is to me…but I've basically spent my whole life here so it's my family, you know? A little odd, a little off beat, but they've mostly all known me since I was a baby, so I'm kind of their pet. I know, it sounds weird."

"I don't know…sounds kind of nice in a way."

Harry's stomach grumbled an almost threatening sound. Draco laughed. "You better get on with your breakfast then."

"Yeah, I guess. What are you going to do?"

"Don't know, really. I'll find something, don't worry. Probably see you around later?"

"Yeah, sure." Harry watched him walk away and sighed. It was a very lovely view.

He turned and made his way back to the eating tent, making the cook very happy by having not just seconds, but thirds of everything.

The day passed remarkably swiftly; Harry made his rounds, and found that most people were quite pleased with what the Malfoys had added to the show, although a few grumbled about how show-offy an act it was, and what was wrong with a good old elephant, flaming hoop and freak show? As always, Harry listened and nodded and watched; he really couldn't imagine a more interesting place to live and work.

He had some minor words with Filch about his lack of aim, and engaged in further speculation with Ron about just what could be causing that rash; Ron was his best friend and was really the only one Harry would consider discussing an upper-thigh skin condition with. They both agreed that Filch was probably on the take and using a lower-grade blasting powder and resolved to get some to test, because after all, if Harry ever **did** get a chance with Draco, a red, bumpy nether region was the last thing he wanted to worry about.

Draco and his father did deign to eat with the rest of the family that night, as rumor had spread that Molly was cooking that night. They ate at the table with Dumbledore, Harry, Molly and Arthur, and various and sundry others, and when Lucius exclaimed over Molly's special chocolate lava cake, she giggled and blushed like a schoolgirl. Harry, of course, could barely keep his eyes off Draco, but was aware all evening of the death glare he was getting from Ginny. Honestly, the girl would just not give it up.

He went to bed early that night, and dreamt of icy-eyed blonds and soft fingers touching his cheek.

&&&&&

Word had spread about the Malfoys, and the tent that night was packed to the brim with people; Minerva was in seventh heaven at the ticket booth, and even Hagrid laid off his usual grumblings about putting his "poor creatures" through their paces.

The show went well; the new clown routine had been refined and the crowd roared with laughter in all the right places. Bill and Ron had created and worked out a new jump that was almost enough to stop your heart, and was greeted with wild applause. Harry hit the target on the first try, and Filch actually counted to four this time. The Not-Quite-Human Pincushion performed a one man skit with a nail gun that was a huge success, and the Octo-Sapien created a lovely sushi sampler from his tail. Dumbledore debuted his new Ringmaster costume, which borrowed heavily from Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, and the Malfoys were a sinuous vision in red silk.

It seemed destined to be a night to remember.

The first tendril of fire licked gently at the base of the main tent, and then traveled upward at an ever increasing speed, till it reached the anchor ropes and became a single stream of flame, racing to the peak and exploding.

As the top of the tent erupted in flames, the screams of the patrons mingled with the frightened cries of the animals as the audience, performers and animals stampeded towards the exit.

Shrieks of "**Aguament**i" went unheeded, as only one wizard in the tent had the ability to cast spells within those canvas walls, and he was being nearly trampled underfoot by the crowd as they frantically pushed to escape what was rapidly turning into an inferno.

The Weasleys, being the closest to the actual flames were able to open the release panels and access the emergency ropes to slide out of the tent, the better to pull people out the front and back exits. On the floor, Harry and the twins worked to corral the people into some sort of line to usher them out, but the fire was spreading fast and they had to settle for just shoving people out. Percy and Hagrid had their hands full with the panicked animals, and soon despite all efforts, it was complete pandemonium.

In the melee, Harry looked for Draco, but didn't see him; he hoped he'd made it out ok.

Once everyone was out, more or less safely, then the water and smothering spells could be cast, and the fire was soon extinguished.

Outside the gates of the circus area, the cracks of Apparition were almost deafening as the audience members fled the scene in droves. In minutes, only the performers were left, staring at the wreckage of the tent, the scorched earth, and each other.

Minerva was role-calling, moving amongst the stunned performers, ascertaining that everyone was present and accounted for. Harry was doing the same on a more informal scale, and was relieved when he saw two blond heads near the ticket booth.

When everyone was present and accounted for, Dumbledore ordered everyone to take a look around and check their quarters for anything suspicious. Knowing the Weasleys would scour their home, Harry decided to go with Draco and Lucius to check their quarters…which proved to be difficult.

Because they were gone, burned to a cinder; nothing remained of their tent, or their belongings.

Draco stared at the spot where the tent had been and had to bite back tears; Malfoys never cried. Harry had caught his breath when he saw the ruins and hesitantly placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, which was rudely shaken off. "I don't like to be touched."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, embarrassed. Across from him, Ginny was smirking and he fought the urge to hex her. And Christ, it was sprinkling rain and she was still wearing those stupid sandals with the heels. He hoped she fell off them, flat on her face.

Dumbledore offered the use of his tent, and Lucius accepted, for once not having a snarky comeback ready. The two Malfoys were gently shepherded off and the rest of the group wandered off in twos and threes, leaving only Harry and Hagrid still there at the scene.

"Bad business, 'Arry." Hagrid's tone was worried. "Looks t'me like it was mebbe started here, an' spread to the Big Top."

Harry nodded; he'd thought the same thing. "You should go back and check on the animals, calm them down in your special Hagriddy way." Harry tried to smile, but it faltered.

"Yeah, should…ya gonna be a'right here, 'Arry? You've your wand with you?"

He nodded. "Always."

"Good boy. Come round in the mornin', a'right?"

"I will, Hagrid; I promise."

The big man nodded back and clomped back towards the animal cages and his own living tent. Harry pulled out his wand, for the clouds had scudded across the moon and it was now very dark out indeed.

"Lumos," he murmured, and a thin ray of light spun from the tip of his wand and illuminated the area around him. He slowly walked in a circle around the perimeter of where the tent had been, stepping lightly in his battered trainers.

On his second turn 'round, he saw something and knelt down. A footprint, clearly defined from where the shoe had sunk into the muddy ground.

The ground keeping shed was nearby, and he was able to retrieve a small gardening trowel, which he used to carefully dig around the footprint, lifting it out and balancing it on his palm. "Nox," he whispered, and carried it back to his room, laying it on a piece of parchment and sliding it under his bed.

He washed his hands and face and slid into bed, his mind whirling.

&&&&&

Dumbledore spent the entire next day questioning people, asking them if they had seen or sensed anything, and if so, would they describe what it had been. He got a lot of nonsensical answers and a few worth thinking over, which was about what he had expected. Harry didn't mention the footprint he'd found, but wasn't quite sure why he didn't, except that he had a feeling it would be important somewhere down the road.

A new tent was procured, and the elder wizards all participated in raising it and casting a host of protective spells on it; this time, a handful of others were granted access to the wards inside the tent, to ostensibly prevent such a disaster from ever happening again.

A meeting was called when the new tent was finished, and again, Dumbledore asked his questions…and again got nowhere. He knew when to cut his losses, but he was deeply troubled. The fire could have been an accident, but he knew it was not. Someone, one of his family, had deliberately burnt the Malfoy's tent and whether planned or not, had nearly killed not only other family members and animals, but innocent members of the public; that someone he knew and loved could do such a thing was hard to accept.

Harry too was finding this all a little hard to take. He had seen the imprint and was pretty sure he knew who's it was, but he still didn't want to believe it. He tried to put it all out of his mind and was mostly successful. Mostly.

The next day was another performance day and that morning, the tent was bustling; the Fossors were checking the larger dimensions against their choreography, the non-dangerous animals were busy sniffing their way around the perimeter, and high above, the younger Weasleys were testing the new ropes and wires.

Far above, on the new catwalk, Ron and Ginny were apparently conducting some sort of scientific experiment by dropping various objects from the walk to the ground. Harry looked at them and shook his head. Whatever made one happy. He dodged a cabbage and winced as it splattered, but Bobo was overjoyed and had himself a fine feast.

He watched Draco enter the new tent and look around; he hadn't spoken to the other boy since the fire and his cheeks still burned as he remembered Draco shaking him off. He decided to wait for Draco to come to him, if he was going to.

He knew that Dumbledore had provided them with a new tent out of his own pocket, and that it was quite a luxurious one; he'd probably never know, since Draco seemed determined to avoid him and he doubted highly that tea and scones were in HIS future. He was surprised, then, when there was a light tap on his shoulder as he sat on one of the drums and watched the clowns.

"Potter," said Draco, shifting to his other foot. "Uhm, sorry about the other night; I was a bit upset, as you can imagine."

Harry shrugged. "I can imagine, yeah. It's all right, no worries."

"Thanks." Draco looked around and then pulled up another drum and sat down. "No one's owned up, huh?"

Harry shook his head. "No, and I hate that."

"Well, people aren't keen to rat themselves or their friends out now, are they. And maybe it really was an accident."

"Maybe," Harry agreed. Draco glanced sideways at him. "You don't believe that."

"Not really, but it doesn't matter what I think. So do you like your new tent?"

"Yes, I do. It's quite nice, actually."

Off to their left, the Fossors were arguing with Filch, who, amongst his other duties that he performed badly, was also in charge of the lights. "Bloody electric monstrosities," grumbled Dando, the leader. "I don't see why candles, torches, lanterns are not enough."

"They're a fire hazard, them things are. And in case you hadn't noticed, there was a fire here a bit ago." Filch had folded his arms and was staring Dando down. "So the boss says electric lights and he gets his lights."

"They're so harsh," another one, Jacobus, complained. "Washes us out!"

"Use more of that rouge stuff and quit the complainin,'" muttered Filch, stalking away. Harry had to admit that Filch had a point…quite the accomplishment, for him.

"Do they always complain like that? " Draco's voice was a loud whisper and several of the clowns glared at him. He stared them down.

"Yes. It's sort of the stock in trade of geniuses, I guess." Harry scratched his neck. Christ, there was STILL frosting here and there, and he's washed as thoroughly as he possibly could. That stuff really WAS spackletastic.

"Well," said Draco, standing. "I better go get ready; let's hope that tonight goes better than last time."

Harry nodded and watched Draco walk away.

He wasn't the only one who did.

& & & & &

The lights, as always, dimmed and condensed until a single ray of white light fell on Draco and Lucius as they began to twist and sway to their signature music.

The audience was spellbound as they moved sinuously, nearly slithering around and over each other, until they were entwined in a human knot that had people gasping at the sheer flexibility of the human body.

Holding this particular pose was tricky, and it frankly hurt, even when one was that limber, and as Draco flexed into his gravity-defying backbend, the audience applauded. Draco smiled and started to twist to stand upright – but couldn't move.

At all; his body felt frozen in place, and frissons of tension were starting to explode along his spine.

"Draco, move," hissed Lucius from underneath him. "You're crippling us both!"

"I can't," Draco hissed back. "I can't move."

"You **have** to…I'm losing all sensation in a place," and Lucius' voice dropped even further. "That I can ill-afford to!"

"Ooooh, poor you. Charlie will have to work a little harder, is all."

The crowd was getting restless as Draco tried to move, tried to tug his hands up off the mat, but they were stuck fast. Above them, the light shimmered and swayed, as the wires holding it there started to fray…and then tore free from its moorings altogether and plummeted down towards the two trapped men.

Everyone seemed frozen but Harry, whose lightning reflexes kicked in instinctively as he dove for the edge of the mat and yanked it free, pulling Draco and Lucius out of the way a split second before the heavy light hit, spraying them with glass and filament.

Dumbledore reacted a second later, sending the bouncing shards flying harmlessly off into a vacant corner of the tent as Lucius was able to use the leg not touching the mat to kick the metal away.

"Minor malfunction," George Weasley called from his spot to the left of Dumbledore. "Nothing to worry about," he added, looking up to where Fred was already climbing the ladder to the uppermost platform to check the other lights.

The crowd was murmuring to themselves, as Dumbledore knelt over the mat and muttered a dissolving charm, freeing Draco, and therefore Lucius from their now-painful positions. They struggled to their feet, Harry taking Draco's arm to steady him, Dumbledore at Lucius' side.

The area was cleaned and the rest of the show did go on, but not without rumblings and murmurs in the crowd…first that terrible fire, now this?

The mood once the crowd had gone was somber, and each performer went back to their respective homes deep in thought.

Harry again stayed behind; he didn't even know why, exactly, or what exactly he was looking for, but like the footprint, there had to be _something_. This was obviously not the work of a master criminal or else they wouldn't have been this careless in the first place.

He got down on his hands and knees at the edge of the mat; something looked rather shiny. He got closer and tentatively brushed his fingertip over the spot; his finger came away with some tacky substance on it. His brows drew together; he'd seen this before. Or, he thought with a sniff, he'd bsmelled it before/b…outside Trelawney's tent the morning Ginny had demanded he love her.

Weird.

The edge of the spot was curling up, and he carefully tried to peel the spot away; a small bit came up, and it had small specks of something familiar and white in it. Harry held it up, then carefully wrapped it in his handkerchief.

It went under his bed with the dirt clod and he was left with much to think of as he extinguished the light in his tent that evening…but not before reviewing some very important reading material.

& & & & &

The next day, Harry was waiting for Draco outside his tent when he emerged that morning, the skin on his hands raw, but otherwise unharmed.

"We need to investigate," Harry said without preamble. "Before something else happens to you, cause it's pretty clear someone wants to kill you…or maim you."

Draco stared at him for a moment. "Well, good morning to you too, Potter."

"There's no time for niceties, Malfoy." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered book. "I was reading last night and…"

"Reading? I didn't know you could read." Draco folded his arms. Harry sighed. "ANYWAY," he continued. "I was reading my trusty investigative guide, and this all is too coincidental. We need to find who's doing this, and why."

Draco looked down at the book. "Surly O'Sullivan's Guide to Nailing the Perp?" he read, and snickered. "Sounds like porn."

"No, no. That would be "Slurpy O'Slutivan." Charlie has the whole series." Harry looked up from where he was thumbing through the book. "Can we get down to business now?"

"Of course; far be it from me to stand in the way of justice." Draco shook his head, but followed along as Harry walked and talked.

"Ok, so I found some important clues at the sites of both incidents, and I think we need to start looking around at some prime suspects." Harry narrowed his eyes and looked around suspiciously.

"Who are the prime suspects?" Draco was being unwillingly drawn into Potter's oddness; at least he wasn't boring. And maybe he was a genius of some sort.

Harry leaned close; Draco smelled very good, and he was momentarily distracted, but soon righted himself. "Everyone."

Or maybe not. "Everyone?"

"Yes." Harry had found the page he wanted, where Surly explained the major rules of wizarding investigation.

"Why everyone? That seems a little wide-ranging, Potter."

"No one likes you. That makes everyone a suspect…except me. And Dumbledore, and probably Hagrid, and Molly and Arthur, cause they're sweet. But everyone else pretty much thinks you're a snot."

"Great." Draco sighed, but didn't dispute the theory. "So, what does the famous Mr. O'Sullivan say about investigating?"

"I'm glad you asked. Do you have your wand? Is that it in your pocket?"

Draco smirked. "Maybe it is, or maybe I'm just happy to see you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't be a wise-ass." _I could only BE so lucky_, he thought, then shook his head. "No, the first rule is "Keep your friends close, and your enemies stupefied." Its classic … also good advice. And unless you're a whiz at wandless magic, your wand should always be at the ready. So?"

"It's my wand."

"Good."

After a long day of investigation, which included, variously, hiding behind the animal cages to eavesdrop on Hagrid and Percy – and purely by accident, Harry swore – getting sprayed with newt repellent, which made even Draco's hair wilt; stalking the clowns and finding out far, far too much about what Dando did with the Bearded Lady after hours; and helping the Pincushion make himself a human shish-kabob, they finally paused near Trelawney's tent to sit down.

"Ok," said Harry, pushing up his glasses on his nose. "This is what we've learned." He handed the paper he'd been scribbling on all day to Draco, and watched as he read.

"This would make a titillating, if disturbing article on sexual perversion, Potter, but I see nothing that would give us any idea of who wants to get rid of me." Draco handed the paper back and sighed. Why would anyone want to get rid of him? He was so…well, him!"

He voiced this thought to Potter, who merely looked at him and said "I think you just answered your own question."

"Bollocks." He sat and scowled, then wrinkled his nose. "What's that weird smell?"

"You smell it too? Good, I'm not going insane."

Before Draco could debate that, Sybill Trelawney emerged, waving her thick glasses about. "Ah, hello boys…here to divine your future?"

"No," said Draco hastily, and she sighed. "Too bad, too bad; Harry has had such a crush on you for so long."

Harry turned scarlet and she looked surprised. "My dear, I thought everyone knew. Ginevra has been in quite a state about it all, been here several times asking for readings." She surveyed her glasses. "Good, all dry. I do love Super Glue. Muggles do come up with the cleverest items!"

Harry was incapable of speaking, and Draco was amused beyond belief, but he managed to say. "Why not just use a sticking charm or a **Reparo**?"

She shrugged. "This seems to work better, for some odd reason. Wonderful stuff. I had another tube, but I cannot seem to locate it. Pity. I shall have to make a trip to town one day to get more."

She slid them back on. "Harry dear, are you all right? You're quite flushed."

Harry nodded. She tilted her head. "You two would be darling together; do feel free to come back when you acknowledge your feelings for each other."

She disappeared again and now _Draco_ blushed. "Is she always this mental?"

"Yes, but she and Dumbledore go way back. Way, wayyyy back." Harry looked around and then made a rather rude gesture that said it all. Draco shuddered. "Ewww."

They began to walk again, as the time for dinner drew near. "Uhm," said Harry after a moment or so. "About what she said…I do like you." The blush was back. "I'm sorry it embarrassed you and I'm sure you just think I'm some geeky freak, but," he shrugged. "I do."

"It's ok," replied Draco a little uncomfortably. "I'm used to it."

"Yeah, I guess you would be." He didn't want to talk about it anymore, so changed the subject quickly. "I think the only real option is for me to dress up as you next performance and see what happens."

"Potter, you can't possibly be serious – you can't even begin to move like I do."

"You'd be surprised. And maybe I won't have to. If my suspicions are correct, the person who is responsible will try something, thinking I'm you and expose themselves. Not literally," he added, shuddering. "But that way, you'll be out of serious danger."

"But you'll be in danger, and that's not acceptable either." Draco was surprised to find that the thought of Potter being crushed, incinerated or Merlin knew what, was upsetting to him. "There should be a better way."

"Not according to Surly." Harry waved the book. "Substitution is one of the best and most reliable ways to catch the bad guy or girl or thing or whatever. It always works for him."

"Potter, O'Sullivan is a _fictional character_," said Draco through gritted teeth. "A drunken, whorish fictional character at that. We are not."

"He may be drunken and a tad indiscriminate but he always gets his bloke. It will be fine, Malfoy. I can take care of myself."

Draco sighed. "I guess," he said slowly. "You survive being shot out of a cannon by a moron four times a week after all. What the hell is up with his inability to count?"

Harry shrugged, glad Draco seemed to be accepting his plan. "He can count; he just shoots off too fast."

"Tell me about it," grumbled the Bearded Lady as she walked by. "More than four times a week too, by my reckoning."

Harry and Draco looked at each other and shuddered in unison.

They went their separate ways then, and as Draco looked after Potter, he found HIS rear view rather nice as well.

Maybe the old bat with the Super Glue wasn't so far off after all.

& & & &

The next night, the show was sold out; not only was the show still getting rave reviews, but a certain segment of the population was in it for the potential morbidity of the situation.

The general opinion seemed to be that **something** would happen, since the culprit had not yet been caught…the only question seemed to be what, exactly, it would be.

Draco was sitting this one out; he still thought Potter was insane, but if his theory was correct, then he would be targeted again tonight and after having all his possessions torched and being nearly crushed to death in the past two weeks alone, he was at least willing to listen to whatever hair-brained scheme the other boy came up with.

Even if it meant dressing Harry up as him, complete with casually disheveled blond wig, no glasses, and a suit so tight that everyone could tell Potter's religion. And even better? He hadn't bothered to tell Lucius about the substitution. After catching his father in flagrante delicto with a Weasley this afternoon –soiling the new bedding at that - he figured the bastard deserved it.

He hadn't ever sat in the audience before at ANY performance, and as he settled back with some popcorn under his Muggle baseball hat he thought this might even be fun.

In the ring, the clowns were tripping over each other, having formulated a new routine that was far from perfected – oddly enough, this seemed to make it funnier and Draco found himself giggling along with the crowd. Then the fire-eater took the stage, followed by the chimera, the dancing hippogriffs and the nifflers playing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Toad" on the xylophone. A few illusions from the twins – and damned if they weren't good illusions, too…and then the Weasleys took wing.

From the floor, from this perspective, he noted three things. One, Charlie's outfit really **was** indecent; two, Bill's hair did flow in a rather lovely fashion as he swung; and three, that Ginny Weasley really **did** have an overly large arse. It looked like someone had set a pumpkin on a bar and sent it hurtling into space.

Finally, it was time for their act…well, not HIS act tonight, but whatever. He watched with barely contained amusement as his father and Harry appeared…and then his father's face when he discovered the switch. He'd never known Lucius could turn that shade of red – it was actually rather becoming.

Harry, for his part, played along, and Draco was pleasantly surprised to see that Potter, too, was a flexible lad, and in Draco's costume…well. The routine was impressive on more than one level.

The act was somewhat abbreviated, but had gone on well enough, and then it was time for final skits and such. There had been no attack, not even the slightest sign of danger, and Draco found himself breathing a sigh of relief. Obviously those other two incidents had been just coincidental…terribly bad luck, granted, but happenstance only.

Well, circuses were odd places by nature, he thought, so….

The thought remained unfinished however, for as he looked up from his popcorn, he saw the huge Graphorn come hurtling towards him, galloping from the center ring where, Draco was sure, it had not been a moment before.

He tried to scramble away, but his seat was located in the middle of a row, and the bleachers were packed. He lurched backward into an old witch's lap, causing her to first coo in delight, then scream when SHE saw what was coming.

As the rest of the performers seemed to freeze in horror –Harry included – and Hagrid tried frantically to head the beast off with a red cloak, toreador-style as Percy hid behind a post. At what seemed to be the last possible moment, Dumbledore raised his wand. "**Petrificus Totallus**!"

The animal froze and landed with a thump just a foot or two the side of Draco, its mouth gaping open, showing rows of razor-sharp teeth, its horns ripping a large tear in the cloth of the tent.

Draco was shaking uncontrollably, and fancied he could feel the hot, rancid breath of the creature on him still. Harry was at his side in a moment, and for once, Draco was absurdedly glad to see him.

As people stampeded out in what was becoming an all too-normal fashion, he turned to Harry. "Potter…God help me, but I think you're right…about the-someone-trying-to-kill-me thing, not to be confused with any of your other crazy theories on life."

"I know," replied Harry grimly. "I know I am. And now, I'm pretty damn sure I know who's behind this, too. And my theories are not crazy, just beyond your limited scope."

"Who?" Draco looked up at him and for once, didn't argue the point. Harry shook his head. "You'll know if I'm right in a few minutes."

Lucius was in the center ring, and his raised voice could be heard above the din. "This is the last straw, Albus! I demand that something be done about all this! My son is being targeted by someone in **your** organization, and twice, they've come very close to killing him! Not just hurting, which would be unacceptable enough, but killing him!" He took a breath. "I don't give a damn about our contract; I'm taking myself and my son out of this shabby, second-rate little…"

Harry had dragged Draco to the center ring and still had his hand firmly on his arm. "Mr. Malfoy, I know you're upset and rightly so, but this has nothing to do with the circus. This is personal and engineered by one person, and I'm about to expose them."

Dumbledore looked at him hard, but nodded, and casting a quick **Sonorous** called for everyone…everyone…to assemble on the bleachers. Harry led Draco over to sit beside Molly Weasley, figuring if he was right, then Molly was perhaps the one person in the circus the perpetrator wouldn't dare cross. Draco was as safe there as he could possibly be.

When all were assembled, Harry went behind the cannon, into the box of explosives clearly labeled "DO NOT TOUCH…OR ELSE!" in Filch's shaky handwriting, and came back with a small bag.

"All right, settle down," he called, adjusting his glasses on his nose and setting the bag down beside him as he stood in front of the crowd.

No one settled down.

"I said," he called, more loudly this time, "to settle down!"

Finally, he pointed his wand at his throat and bellowed "WILL YOU ALL SHUT THE FUCK UP?"

Silence…until a maternal voice floated down. "Really, dear, language!"

He sighed and Arthur looked at him sympathetically. "Never mind his language Molly; Harry, if you would?"

"Thank you. Now, the purpose of this little gathering is to get to the bottom of what's been going on, before we're all out of a job, a home, and attending a funeral."

Next to Molly, Draco shuddered, and Harry noticed that Lucius had taken a spot beside Draco, and Charlie was sitting behind him, braiding his hair. It had to be love.

He wrested his attention back to the situation at hand and cleared his throat. "I plan to expose the perpetrator of these incidents, so if you will all direct your attention here," he indicated the bag. "We can begin."

He surveyed the crowd, then reached into the bag, pulling out what looked like – and was – a clump of dried mud. "The first incident was the intentional torching of the Malfoy living tent, which resulted in the _mostly_ unintentional destruction of the main performance tent as well." Harry paused, letting the phrase "mostly unintentional" sink in. "Now, since magical means were used to create the fire, normally there would be very little, if any, evidence present unless one could somehow trace the wand's magical signature. This manner of identification is only truly viable if one can be at the scene within five minutes of the spell being cast, and of course, due to the pandemonium, no one was able to discern the initial site of the fire till later."

He moved the clod of dirt carefully to the other hand. "When it became apparent that the fire was started at the back of the Malfoy's tent, and then spread, I looked around at the ground surrounding the tent. Since it had recently rained, there was a fair amount of mud, which allowed for a footprint or two to be left. This is one of those footprints; when dried, the outline, tread and heelprint are easy to see."

He set the cast of the footprint down. "The second incident was, of course, the sticking of the Malfoys –specifically Draco – to their mat, so that they were helpless to move. Since charms are not permitted in this arena, save from Dumbledore, it couldn't be a sticking charm, so Muggle means were used, specifically a form of what Muggles call "Super Glue." Not a substance usually found around here, but Seer Trelawney uses it regularly to fix her eyeglasses, which have been broken many times. The culprit stole Sybill's tube of Super Glue and used a minute amount, mixed with a bit of water, to make sure that the spots where Draco and Lucius' hands and foot respectively would land were coated."

Harry took a breath. "They don't call it Super Glue for nothing; they literally could not move. Thus, when stuck, the culprit figured they would be an easy target for the falling light; they'd experimented with falling objects and knew that the light would fall too quickly to be stopped. Had they thought the issue through better, they would have also glued the mat to the floor, but it's our great luck that they didn't think of that option. When I examined the mat later, I found some hard white particles mixed in with the glue and recognized it immediately as Sweet Cecilia's sticky bun frosting. Whoever did this had recently had one of these buns, and had not washed their hands yet. I was able to scrape a small amount of the mixture off the mat, which I have here." He dangled a small piece of what appeared to be dried rubber in which white particles could clearly be seen in the light.

"Now for the little incident of just half an hour ago," said Harry, who was finding that he was rather enjoying being the center of attention, and not just because some part of him was afire. "The Graphon is kept under lock and key, as he should be, being the most dangerous animal we own. Hagrid is compulsive about safety, and he would not let the creature out for **any** reason unless he was in the ring with it, and the taming spell had been cast. The only other person who has a key to its cage is Percy, but he too would never let the Graphon out without Hagrid's supervision. Neither of them was in the area of the cage when the animal attacked Draco. But someone was…someone who left a little evidence near the cage."

He reached into the bag and came up with three pieces of popcorn, which he let lie in his palm. "The person who let the Graphon out was eating popcorn at the time. They had a box of it after their performance, as is their habit, and they were still eating it when they went to "Keep Perce company." Then they waited for the performance, and when they realised it wasn't Draco out there, they became angry and let the Graphon loose. The Graphon knew its target because part of Draco's torn costume was tossed into his cage."

Harry looked down at the kernels. "These look like any normal kernels, don't they? But on two of the kernels, there is a smear of pink lip gloss. Diamond Dragon, I believe it's called, isn't it Ginny?"

All eyes turned to where Ginny Weasley sat. She stared down at Harry, who stared back at her.

"Honestly, Gin," Harry said rather softly, his voice carrying, nonetheless. "That was careless. Other women in this group might wear high heels, but not on a regular basis. And not when committing arson on a damp night; you could have gotten stuck in the mud, fallen and broken your ankle. Not smart."

He took a few steps towards the bleachers, where Ginny sat in the third row, looking petrified. "The Super Glue was a smart move; even with the frosting, I might have been led astray. But then I remembered where you took me to talk at me about our supposed relationship…next to Sybill's tent, where you had apparently been spending a lot of time, asking her to read tea leaves, use her crystal ball, contact spirits and whatever the hell else you two did to see if we would be together. Remember the smell I mentioned and you denied smelling? And oddly enough, when you smacked me in the face with that sticky bun and I spent most of the day scraping the frosting out of my eyebrows? It made it very easy to identify the chunks of matter in the Super Glue."

The lights were hot and he tossed the kernels on the ground before wiping his face. "I didn't think much of you and Ron tossing stuff off the upper catwalk the other day; I figured you two were just passing time, and Ron _was_. But you were seeing how fast something would fall, and you made sure that you were on that catwalk before the show, "testing the ropes," when what you were really doing was cutting the anchor wires on the lamp, leaving one to fray. When the cannon went off, the vibrations shook the last remaining wire, so that it would drop momentarily. You figured one way or the other, someone would get hurt. "

He paused. "That one threw me off, cause the Fossors hate the lights, and the Malfoys as well, but they never go up there; they have no reason to. So it wasn't them."

Everyone was now staring openmouthed at Ginny, sweet little Ginny Weasley; she squirmed inside her gray sweatshirt with "The Winged Weasleys" on it.

"The Graphon was a tricky one, though, Gin…I have the popcorn and I have the bit of Draco's costume, but the keys…"

"She hugged me." Percy's voice was surprisingly loud in the silence. "She asked if she could borrow my sweatshirt, and then she hugged me. She must have hooked the key then." He looked at his sister. "Should have known – she never hugs me if she can help it."

"That's because you smell like skrewt shit most of the time," she hissed, the first words she'd said through all this. She turned her eyes to Harry. "Fine. I did it, I did all of it. Happy?"

Harry looked at her in disbelief. "Fuck, NO, I'm not happy! You tried to kill Draco! Not just once, but three separate times!"

She stood up, though it was clear that no one had any intention of letting her go anywhere. "I did it for you, Harry! For us! Everything was fine until HE came along!"

Harry shoved his hands back through his hair. "Ginny, there was never an "us." You wanted to think so, even after you knew I wasn't interested in you, or any girl, for that matter. I was never anything but honest with you, and the fact that you not only chose not to believe it, but actively try to hurt the person I AM interested in, is just…twisted. And sick and wrong."

She took a few steps down the bleacher stairs. "Harry, you can't mean that. It's always been you and I, it was meant to be!"

"No, it wasn't." He felt suddenly weary. "Whatever else you think was meant to be, it wasn't us." He looked over at Dumbledore. "That's all I have, sir."

Dumbledore patted his back. "Well done, Harry. Excellent work; you may well have saved this circus from closing down, as well as having saved Mr. Malfoy's life."

He looked up at Ginny. "And you, Ginevra, will have to face the consequences of your actions….in the morning. You will spend the night, under house watch, with Minerva in her quarters."

Harry glanced over at McGonagall, who looked stern and forbidding; Harry could almost hear her racking up the lost galleons from the past few performances and almost pitied Ginny.

Almost.

This was the point, he thought, as he watched two of the burlier clowns lead Ginny away, where she should shout "And I would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for you meddling kids!" Or where Surly O'Sullivan would tap the notebook closed with his wand, extinguish the lights in his office and go to the pub and get hammered while pondering the human condition.

That last sounded good to him, frankly.

As the crowd dispersed, he watched Charlie lead a somber Lucius away and could only hope that a night of debauchery and purple negligees were in the offering, because his son's narrow escape from Death had apparently affected him more than Harry would have thought. Charlie, too, looked serious, but wouldn't for long; it wasn't in his nature.

The rest of the Weasleys trailed after their parents, and Harry knew he'd be sleeping with the animals tonight.

"Harry."

It was Draco, and he was standing right in front of him. "Thank you," he said softly, and before Harry could answer, he was being kissed, warmly and firmly, and arms were around him, hands sinking into his hair. He responded fully, kissing Draco back…and it was just like he'd always dreamed it would be.

"Stay with me tonight?" Draco's voice was low, meant only for Harry, and Harry nodded. Together, they left the tent, and when Draco reached for his hand, Harry wrapped his fingers around Draco's and smiled.

Trelawney wasn't _always_ off. In fact, sometimes she was pretty damned on.

& & & & &

Draco woke to see Harry already dressed, and putting on his shoes. "Whatcha doin?"

Harry turned and smiled at him warmly, leaning over to kiss his lips lightly. "Going to see what they're going to do to Ginny; Lucius is, apparently, not going to press formal charges since no one actually got injured, but Ginny's still being sent away."

Draco blinked. "How do you know all this?"

Harry was pulling on his jacket and sliding his wand into his pocket. "Ron was here; he came in to tell me the news and say sorry on behalf of the family, which is rubbish, cause I don't blame any of them, ever…and then he saw you there and had a fit of temporary hysterical blindness. He'll be all right though….in time."

Draco had to laugh, and got up as well, dressing quickly. He wanted to see this.

"Got your wand?" Harry grinned as he held open the tent flap.

"Yep…**and** I'm happy to see you." He grinned in return.

In the main area, Ginny was being held between two Ministry Aurors as her sentence was read. As Dumbledore finished speaking, a roar of laughter went up. Even the Weasleys were laughing; some behind hands and some openly.

Ginny's wails were drowned out by the laughter, and a moment later, she was Apparated away.

"A fat camp?" Draco shook his head. "That's punishment?"

"For Ginny, it's a fate worse than death. It's even a Muggle fat camp." Harry was still chuckling and Draco shook his head then turned to cup Harry's face in his hands and kissed him soundly.

Harry grinned at him when they broke for air. "What are you doing?"

"Just following the advice of the greatest drunken fictional Wizarding detective of all time; I'm keeping my new friend close, and my enemies look pretty damn stupefied to me."

Harry laughed and kissed him back.

The show that night was nothing short of spectacular.

35


End file.
